Like Tears In Rain
by Ozluv04
Summary: Boone's memories will die with him.


Author:Ozluv04

Disclaimer: The pretty, pretty Boone(or any of the other Lostaways) does not belong to me. They all belong to Mr. Abrahms and ABC.

Warning:Spoilers through Do No Harm.

A/N: This was purely inspired by the quote that prefaces it. If it appears fragmented that was my intention. This is a glimpse into Boone Carlisle's life. A series of memories and they are presented as such. Or my obligatory Boone's dead fic. Enjoy.

"_All those moments will be lost in time. Like tears in rain. Time to die."_

—_Blade Runner _

His first memory is a color. Red. Deep, shining red floating high above him as he releases the balloon into the sky. He doesn't cry, just watches mesmerized.

He's sick. Not nearly as sick as they think he is, but still sick. Sick and miserable. Daddy's still not home. He promised. He lied. Not the first time. It's so easy to take it out on Theresa. He rings the bell and up she comes. He gives her orders and down she goes. Only this time she doesn't come back up.

"How do you feel?" the man asks him as he sits on the floor idly rolling a rubber ball in his hands. "Do you know where your father's gone? Why he left? Do you think about Theresa? It's not your fault. No one blames you." He wonders when his mother will pick him up.

"This is Shannon." He smiles at the girl who will soon be his sister.

It's quick and sloppy. Her lips on his. He's older, he should not have let it happen. He was curious. She looks satisfied when she pulls away. He thinks his first kiss shouldn't have been with his sister.

The liquor burns his throat. It's like fire. He hates it. He hates it more when he's vomiting into the toilet. The hangover is his award. He wears it like a badge of honor.

He's making a sign. He's making a difference. Chanting with the crowd. One voice, one purpose. He feels alive. His stepfather thinking he's a fool is only an added bonus.

His mother proudly hands the L.A. store over to him. He spends his days in a swirl of giggling woman and white dresses. Shannon says he'll never get a date again.

Shannon's sobbing and all he can do is watch. He wants to kiss every tear from her face, but she won't allow it. Her father's dead. He wishes he was sorry.

She's gone again. Paris, the letter said. He checks his banking account and waits for her call.

Australia. Maybe the only place he has never visited. He wonders if he'll have time to see Sydney after he saves Shannon from herself.

She's drunk. Her lips are on his and it's not quick or sloppy. It's long and sweet. He hates himself for wanting it. He hates her for knowing he wants it. He makes love to his sister.

She says they should go back to before. He can't remember 'before'.

The plane shudders and breaks. As they fall Theresa flickers through his mind. Shannon screams.

Pens. He needs to find pens. They all look at him like he's insane, but he feels like he's doing something. He's making a difference. He needs to find pens.

He wanted to save her. Joanna. He took the class, he was certified. He spent three summers as a lifeguard. This doesn't matter when he feels himself slipping under the water. This doesn't matter when Jack's dragging him ashore.

The cooler is heavy as he drags it across the sand. He tells himself this is right. The water needs to be preserved.

He faces the wrath of Sawyer for plundering through his stash. Sawyer's fist on his face makes him crumble. He hates feeling week.

Shannon died in his arms. He is covered in her blood. But it's not real. It wasn't real. He feels sick because he wishes it was.

Digging. He has been on the island for nearly a month and he has never had more purpose than when he listens to John Locke while he digs up the hatch. Each shovel of dirt feels like redemption.

Another plane. Locke was right. He scales the cliff convinced he'll find answers. He'll make John proud. When the voice over the transmitter speaks his heart leaps. Saved. "We're the survivors of Flight 815." An echo? No. The plane tilts and once again he's falling.

Jack. Voices everywhere. Urgency. Panic. Not good. It's not good. Where's Shannon?

Colors. Reds and yellows. Fading. Fleeting. "Let me go." It's ending. Jack looks like he's the one who is dying. He wishes he could laugh. Words, he has to say_ something_. He has to say something that matters. "Tell Shannon..."

His last memory is a touch. Jack's shaking hands over his eyes. Darkness.


End file.
